


Don’t

by sarahjacobs



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, bruises?, fights?, idk is it angst, is it not, race is angry, spot is confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahjacobs/pseuds/sarahjacobs
Summary: “Don’t leave me.”





	Don’t

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this bc i can’t sleep. So it’s unedited and like ugh

Race wasn’t even sure how he ended up in Brooklyn. The strike, Crutchie was taken to the refuge, Romeo was hurt, all his newsies were hurt, Jack was gone and Brooklyn never showed up. Race stared up at the Brooklyn lodging house, he opened the door and stormed inside. He glared at some of the newsies who were warming up by the fire. Race stomped upstairs to where the bunks lie.

Race looked around the badly lit room before noticing Spot sitting on a top bunk, talking with one of the younger newsies. The other newsies stopped what they were doing and watched as Race marched towards Spot.

“Conlon!” Race yelled, Spot jumped up immediately. Spot quickly made his way down from the top bunk and in front of Race.

“Heya, Racer,” Spot replies.

Race takes a deep breath and feels his heart pounding in his chest. Race’s fists curl at his sides and then he’s swinging, his fist connecting with Spot’s jaw.

“The hell, Higgins!” Spot shouts before swinging back. Race let’s it hit his already bruised face. Spot goes to throw another punch but freezes when seeing Race wasn’t trying to fight back.

Race hunches over, his hands on his knees as he gasps for breath.

“Come on, Racer,” Spot says quietly, pulling Race towards the window. He leads them onto the fire escape. Race immediately pushes Spot away from him.

“Antonio,” Spot glares, reaching a hand out towards the boy.

“Don’t touch me!” Race shouts, slapping Spot’s hand away. “How—how could? How could you!”

“You hit me first!” Spot defends himself.

“I ain’t talking about that!” Race says softer this time, but he pushes Spot backwards. “I’se talking about the strike!”

Spot freezes.

“You didn’t show up, Sean!” Race says, “They slaughtered us! They—they…” He slumps over. He rests his head on his arms, leaning against the fire escape. Spot approached him hesitantly.

“They got Crutchie,” Race whispers so quietly Spot almost didn’t hear him.

“I—” Spot begins but he wasn’t sure what to say. Race looks up at him, that’s when Spot notices all the bruises. A bruise on his cheek, something that looks like a hand print on his other, he was sporting a black eye, and his jaw was bruising but that one was because of Spot.

“Youse didn’t show up…that means no one else bothered to show up either!” Race tells him. “It was only us.”

Spot didn’t say anything.

“Dammit, Spot!” Race swore, he kicked his foot against the fire escape then winced. Race sat down and rubbed his hands over his face. He digs in his pocket for a cigar.

Spot hesitated before sitting down beside him. “Here,” Spot says, handing him a cigar. Race glares at it before taking it and lighting it.

“We was countin’ on you,” Race tells him but Spot stares straight ahead. “Brooklyn’s in and then everyone else would’a been in. But no, Brooklyn ain’t gonna show up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Spot could see Race looking at him. Spot wanted nothing more than to hold him, but the boys inside were most likely watching them.

“I was countin’ on ya,” Race says gently. Spot quickly looks over at him. “I had a little hope that you’d show up.”

“It’s growin’ dark, Race,” Spot tells him, “You need to head back to Manhattan.”

“I walked all this way with the intention to, well, fight you, I guess,” Race laughs at himself. “Can barely see the way it is, but now it’s worse. Wouldn’t have won.”

“You wouldn’t have won anyways. With or without the black eye,” Spot retorts.

Race stiffens. “You know, if this had been a strike you organized I would’a backed you up in a heartbeat. That’s what friends…or whatever we are…do.”

Race stood this time, heading towards the stairs. “I thought you cared a little bit.”

“That has nothing to do with this, Race!”

“It has everything to do with this! I trusted you as a friend…as a—a,” Race pauses to whisper, “boyfriend, to back me up!”

Spot rolls his eyes and walks towards Race, shoving him back just a bit, “This is about a strike, Antonio, not us!” He spat. “It’s about me protectin’ my boys! Not about me backing you up! You’re being stupid and over dramatic!”

The two boys glare at each other for a long time. Race turns first, making his way down the stairs. He pauses when hearing Spot let out a small, “Don’t leave me.” Race fiddled with the cigar in his hand before turning back to the fire escape. He looks up to see Spot looking at him with wide eyes. Race quickly looked away and laid the cigar on the steps before running back towards Manhattan.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna yell/talk/request something you can follow my tumblr??? crutchhies or itcouldpracticallywriteitself


End file.
